Vicente deliberately relaxed his shoulders. "Yes, sir. But I don’t-"
Mr. McClemmy groaned as he pushed himself up to stand. "I know. You don’t like the sound of it." He winked as if they hadn't nearly come to blows.
Vicente got to his feet and then followed him to the door, opening it for him as he’d been trained. "I’ll be ready."
His boss’ hand landed on his shoulder, the amethyst sparkling on his pinky. "Good. Because we're leaving straight away. I have to return to Los Angeles."
He looked into Vicente’s eyes almost sadly. He then squeezed his shoulder before stepping out of the car.
Two men Vicente had never met before escorted him and Mr. McClemmy from the train to the hotel. They were Dearbourne's. The elevator slowed and then stopped after a slight bounce. The operator opened the door and held it as Vicente stepped out on the penthouse floor.
"Mr. Dearbourne wants you out of here and down the hall," one of them ordered.
"What's your name?" Vicente asked.
He looked puzzled. "Donny."
"Donny, you tell Dearbourne he can make the request himself."
Vicente entered the secondary bedroom. He'd always left the master bedroom for Mr. McClemmy.
He walked through the short foyer and then slipped behind the wall, reaching into his coat for his revolver. Donny and his friend lingered outside the door, their voices buzzing as to who would go deliver Vicente's message to their boss. He crossed to the armoire, reached in and pulled out the Western Field 12-gauge shotgun.
When they didn't break down the door, he walked straight to the door leading to Anna's room. Without knocking, he opened it and stepped inside.
She'd left behind the imprint of her body on top of the blankets. The brown dress with its matching feathered hat, shoes and gloves remained hanging by the dresser. Apparently, she'd taken the new shirt and pants he'd ordered for her.
He checked the bath and touched the damp towel she'd used.
Perhaps it was best she'd run out on him. By tomorrow at this time, Vicente would either be dead or turned over to the feds. He didn’t want her anywhere near of this.
But the timing of her arrest and Mr. McClemmy's arrival didn't sit right with him.
Vicente listened for sounds of Dearbourne and his men. He pulled on a coat over the 12-gauge and slipped out through the service entrance to the suite, taking the stairs down into the kitchens and laundry. He paid the manager cash for the Ford truck. He was on Harbor Drive when he saw the smoke curling up through the tops of the Eucalyptus trees into the cloudless sky. He jerked the car into the wrong lane, passing the meandering truck. An oncoming car zigzagged, unsure what to do, as Vicente swung left onto 6th Street.
They were flinging buckets of water at the fire, held back by the withering heat and thick smoke. Vicente could hear the snapping wood and explosions of glass. He abandoned the truck with the motor still idling as he pushed through the crowd towards Anna's house. The fire brigade hadn’t yet arrived.
He grabbed the person next to him. "Where is she?"
The man reared back as if he’d struck him. "Where the fuck is she?" Vicente shouted.
"Who? Who?"
"Anna!"
Frightened, he shook his head. Vicente shoved him out of his way and went to the next.
Ignoring a chorus of voices telling him to stop, Vicente ran down the side of the house towards the back. Heat seared through his clothes. He ripped off his jacket and held it over his face, racing through the narrow space between the house and fence.
He found the boy lying down on the back steps. Smoke curled off his pants, his feet trapped under the burning door. His back was peppered with shot gun blast. They'd used his body to make it look like the still had blown. Vicente knew because he'd used that tactic before.
He stood there, trying to calculate if she'd left the hotel in time to have made it inside the house. Or, if they grabbed her while he was on the train with Mr. McClemmy. He started for the door when he was grabbed from behind. Men held him down on the hard-packed dirt. A face came into his line of view. Andy. He yelled in his face, but Vicente couldn't hear through his own screaming. Finally Andy stood up, pulled his flask out of the waistband of his pants and threw the contents in Vicente’s face.
Vicente coughed and spluttered.
"Get up. We gotta run."
The flames now consumed the body on the steps and the smell of roasted hair and human meat reached down into Vicente's throat. Anna was in there, burned beyond recognition.
Andy yanked Vicente up to sitting. Another man stood next to him, helping him to his feet.
"Get up, compadre," Alex ordered. "If we stay here, it’s all over."
Smoke licked the trees, smearing across the sun. The wind blew pieces of ash in their faces. Vicente caught his footing and stood up; Alex and Andy led him away. With each step, he went numb inside.
"Get rid of him."
Vicente's head snapped up at the sound of the old lady's voice. He was now seated at Eugenia's table in her dark kitchen, wondering how he'd ended up here. Andy stood by the door smoking. Alex was nowhere to be seen. The old lady still wore black, her hair now completely white and her face sunken from the loss of her teeth.
Eugenia placed a cup of steaming coffee in front of him. "Drink this."
"He's got no business bringing trouble to our door," the old lady screeched. "He turned his back on us-"
"Abuela, enough," Eugenia said without conviction.
"He left us. Why should we take him in and that-" She flapped her hand in Andy's direction. "That Japanese he brought with him."
Vicente thought how much she sounded like Anna's mother did on the morning they woke up on the benches. He didn’t care what happened to him now. He couldn’t talk or cry or feel anger at what had been done. He was just a body now that waited to die.
"Drink it," Andy said, pointing to the coffee. "This Japanese could've died saving your ass."
"You had this coming," the old lady said. "Good riddance to bad rubbish! Go to hell for all I care but don't take this family with you."
The table blurred, and he was so tired that he rested his head on the cool wood. It occurred to him to ask Andy how he'd found him. But then he thought no more.
"Vicente, wake up." He tried to open his eyes. But they wouldn't budge.
"Come on, I know you can hear me." Her cool fingers slid under his hand. "Please wake up."
He grabbed the hand hovering over his face, holding on tight so he wouldn't drift back into unconsciousness.
"You're awake. Finally." Anna pressed a wet cloth against his cheek. He opened his eyes and saw her face lit by the bedside lamp.
"You're not dead," he croaked.
"Obviously."
He doubled over coughing. She rubbed his back. When he caught his breath, her hand slipped away. He reached for her. "Don't go," he said.
"I'm not. I just have some water for you. Here."
She helped him sit up. She held the glass to his dry mouth. He felt the cool water slide down his burnt throat and through his aching chest.
"I made Andy drive us here," she said calmly. "We're safe. For now, anyway."
Vicente just stared at her, his throat squeezing tight. She actually sat next to him, her thigh pressed against him and her hand safely nestled in his. He wanted to cry with relief and admiration for her quick and matter-of-fact appraisal of the situation. A woman like Clara would've pushed him in the fire and dusted off her hands as she walked away. But Anna was here; his Anna, wiping his filthy face with a cloth. He wanted to laugh but breathing hurt like hell.
He looked around the room lit with an old oil lamp. His suit coat and shoes were missing. He sat in a narrow bed. The curtains were shut against the night. It wasn't his sister's house. He'd been moved. Right now he could give a shit where they were. Anna was alive and this wasn't a dream.
"Thank you," he said and she took the glass away.
"I tried to clean you up while
you slept-"
He grabbed her hand as she pulled away to dip the towel into the basin by the bed.
Her eyes met his and without hesitation he pulled her close to press his forehead against hers. Waiting for some sign that she didn't want him, he then angled his head to brush his lips against hers. She jolted but didn't pull away. He stayed there, silently asking for more, weaving his fingers through her hair. When her hand slid up his shoulder, he kissed her, coaxing her lips apart to taste her. He went dizzy, holding back the desperation of so many years of wanting her. She slipped her tongue between his teeth, and his hand fisted her hair.
She shoved him away. Just when he thought he'd pushed her too far, she began unbuttoning her shirt.
"Touch me," she whispered as she pulled her shirt open. "Hurry-"
He slipped his hands under her cotton undershirt and his hands filled with the heat of her skin. Her breasts were heavy and her nipples already tight beads. With a sound he'd never heard her make, she arched into his hands. He squeezed and tasted and when he couldn't hold back, he dug his hands into the waistband of her pants, tugging them down. Anyone could walk in on them. That only made him more frantic to get to her, to finally make her his.
She unzipped them and then wiggled free. The feel of her bare skin against his sent a shock through him. The dark room filled with the sounds of their kisses and ragged breath. They both cried out and went still when she slipped him into her.
Afterward they lay facing each other, foreheads touching and her leg hitched over his hip. She kept her eyes closed, and for a moment, he thought she slept.
She grinned when he slid his hand up her spine. "That's the first time it-" Anna went quiet and her hand curled into a fist against his chest.
"It what?" he asked.
She didn’t move or make a sound.
A hole started to open in his chest. "I hurt you, didn't I?"
Anna shook her head, her breath hitching. "It was the first time it felt good."
He should've felt rage at what Albert had done to her. But he kissed her and tasted her tears as if he could take her pain inside and carry it away with him. "I'm that good, huh?"
They laughed.
"Are you going to tell me what happened?" he asked.
"Michael is dead," she said. "I saw the house go up and-"
"You what?"
"I was going to run but then I thought, what if you followed me and you thought I was dead." She pressed her hand against his cheek.
Vicente held her tighter, his throat burning as he remembered the heat of the fire and the smell of smoke and flesh. He thought of the boy he'd found over the back steps. Mr. McClemmy set this up. Vicente wondered if Campbell or Hollner were in on the deal.
He released her enough so he could look her in the eye. "You and I, we need to disappear."
"I know." Her fingers flexed, tightening her hold on his shoulder. "But we're going together."
He had nothing but his burned up clothes. He'd left the shotgun and the truck in the barrio. But none of that mattered with her in his arms. They'd grab their chance and run like hell. He kissed her. Her hands glided down his back, exploring and heating his skin. Her hip pulsed against him, and he gently rolled her onto her back, pressing her into the mattress, tasting and feeling her for what would be a lifetime of nights like this. They'd ride this out, cast off their names and all of this ugliness to start new.
As they lay together, holding each other tight, she whispered, "Promise me, no matter what, we stay together."
He kissed her temple and said, "I promise. I'll never leave you behind again."
Chapter Twenty Six
Dori yanked open the door at the third knock.
"Are you Dori Orihuela?"
"I am."
"I'm serving you with-" The process server stepped back, her mouth dropping open with surprise as Dori came out the door. "Hey hang on there."
"I'm not going to do anything to you," Dori said, taking the papers from her. "I have to get to work and you're in my way."
On a January night, she should've worn something warmer than her leather jacket. But it and the scarf Sela gave her for Christmas were the closest things at hand when she got the call for an armed robbery outside a bank on Adams Avenue.
She tossed the papers onto the passenger seat, flicked on the headlights and pulled away from the house. She had just made a pot of tea with Melody Gardot on the iPod to celebrate that she'd finished her last Lexapro and was no longer on desk duty. Dori frowned at the the waste of that beautiful dragon pearls green tea.
When she arrived at the scene, Dori breathed in the misty night air and the sense of calm of having been back on the job for almost two months. She had been free of ghosts and panic attacks and Gavin. He never asked for an explanation as to why she'd disappeared on him the day she'd fought with Grammy, and for that she was grateful. But he put Oscar on the job who said they'd be done with everything at the end of the week.
She locked the door of her car and shoved her key into her pocket. As her boots crunched over glass and grit, her life was becoming a neat, manageable package. At least that's what she told herself when she thought about the papers she left behind in the car. But mostly Vicente weighed heavily on her conscience. And Meg. Grammy, too.
Dori pushed those thoughts into a corner.
The mist hovered in the beams of the cruiser lights and she found her partner, Elliot Markle, talking with one of the paramedics.
A uniformed officer questioned a well-dressed couple. The wife held a French bulldog in her arms. As Dori walked towards her partner, she grabbed her flashlight out of her pocket and aimed it on the ground. A rhinestone earring glittered on the pavement and she marked it with a tissue. No ripped clothing, tire marks or loose bills on the ground. She peered up at the bank, noting the camera aimed at this side of the lot.
"We catch you on a date or something?' Elliot asked when Dori walked up to him.
She spotted the Starbucks cup in his hand and ignored his greeting. They had a few conversations about the shooting but things weren't the way they'd been. Although, he appeared to come out of it better than she had.
She nodded at the paramedic, with the name Jimmy Cardenas on his uniform. "Hey detective," Jimmy said.
"How's it going?" she returned in greeting and then to Elliot. "What do we have?"
Elliot sipped his latte, taking his time to answer her question. Dori kept her stare steady but uncertainty squirmed in her stomach. Even though she'd been cleared and reinstated, there were a few on the force who were testing her. But Elliot really seemed determined to keep her at arm's length.
Suddenly, she remembered what she'd once told Vicente - she'd faced bigger and badder guys than him. The macho grin on Vicente's face was so clear in her mind that she blinked and then came back to the parking lot.
Elliot cleared his throat. "Two store employees were dropping off the day's deposit bag when two guys came out of nowhere, of course, and held them at gun point." He pointed to the ground where Dori had marked the earring with tissue. She waited for him to notice it but he continued.
"The couple with the dog over there found them lying here. Didn't see the robbers, but they think they heard tires squealing and saw the girls lying in the parking lot."
Jimmy caught her attention. "Let me know when we can take her to the hospital," he said.
Dori turned to the 20-something girl sitting on the bumper of the ambulance and met defiant, black-rimmed eyes. She was trying to be tough, but she hugged herself tightly. The other victim was in the back of the ambulance with a female paramedic.
"I want to chat with them first. I'll be right there."
Jimmy nodded and then walked back to the ambulance.
The cold worked its way through her boots. But this was right where she was meant to be.
She scanned the parking lot. It was well-lit, facing a busy street in a neighborhood where people were out walking with their kids or dogs. The movie theatre acro
ss the street had enough people coming and going to deter most armed robbers.
Elliot touched her sleeve. "Ready for more?"
"Bring me up to speed."
"So the first guy grabs-" He paused, handing his cup to Dori to hold. When she didn't take it, he put it on the ground to fish out his notepad. She refused to feel petty for playing games with him.
"He grabs Mia, the assistant manager with the cash bag," he said, after scanning his notes. "Her co-worker Yvonne gets pushed to the ground; gunman presses her face down and threatens to shoot if Mia doesn't hand over the bag."
Dori wondered when he'd pick up his latte. "How much was in the bag?"
"Eight hundred cash."
She stared across the parking lot at the tissue, picturing what had happened in her head.
"Mia drops the cash," Elliot continued. "Guy throws her down, and he and his friend run for it. Two witnesses find the girls and then call us."
"I used to make cash deposits like this when I was in high school," Dori said, eyeing the coffee by her foot. "Amazing this doesn't happen more often."
"Where did you work again?"
"Remember Suncoast Motion Picture Company? I worked at the one in Plaza Bonita."
"Yeah, I remember those stores," he said. "It'd be smarter to hire an armored truck to make the deposits with cash like that."
When she couldn't stand it any longer, Dori bent down, picked up the latte and handed it to him. "Hey, thanks," he said, genuinely surprised as if he'd completely forgotten it.
Maybe she'd been the one imagining he was playing a game. As he sipped it, she thought that a latte didn't sound too bad about right now. "They don't make enough every night to warrant an armored truck, nor do they want cash in the back safe," she explained. "Did you get a hold of the store manager?"
"He's not answering his phone. Why? What's that look about?"
Dori turned away from the girls. "The one sitting there, is that Mia?"
"Yup. The other one won't talk."
With another look at his latte, she said, "See you in a second."
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